The Prodigal Daughter Returns
Yesterday, there was a desperate knock on my door. It was Gloria. She looked ten years older—dirty, crying, and completely penniless. She begged to come inside, sobbing that she had “made a mistake” and had nowhere else to go. I looked at her, but I didn’t see my daughter.
I saw the person who smilingly zipped up her sister’s wedding dress while secretly planning to run off with the groom. I stood there, facing the hardest choice a mother ever has to make.
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